


tapping out

by anarchetypal



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Desperation, Desperation Play, M/M, Watersports, wow so this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchetypal/pseuds/anarchetypal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts, as most things in Danny's life seem to nowadays, while they're recording a video.</p>
<p>"<i>Fuck</i>, I need to piss."</p>
            </blockquote>





	tapping out

It starts, as most things in Danny's life seem to nowadays, while they're recording a video.

" _Fuck_ , I need to piss."

Danny laughs as he says it, a frustrated groan in his voice, because it's his own fault—he had a chance to run to the bathroom during their last break and didn't do it, deciding to put faith in his bladder.

A mistake, obviously.

He can hold it, sure, but fuck if it's not uncomfortable as hell. He's squirming a little on the couch, legs bouncing up and down as he struggles to pay attention to the screen. Even now, he's still kicking Arin's ass at VS (though that probably has less to do with Arin sucking and more to do with the fact that Danny _may_ have chosen an old arcade game he used to play as a kid—which isn't _cheating_ , by the way, it's just _strategy_ , and it's working, so there).

"I thought you were gonna go during the break," Arin says, and then, "Fuck! I can't— I _can't_ — How the fuck am I supposed to get over there without dying? How did you do that?!"

"Skills," Danny says, smug. "Pure talent. Also, the B button."

There's a pause, and then Arin's character makes the leap, and he lets out a sound of incredulous amazement. "Okay, whatever. At least I know to go to the fucking bathroom when I need to."

"I thought I could hold it," Danny whines, drawing the words out a little, self-indulgent. He gets a little vindictive pleasure out of how Arin goes quiet and glances at him—because of his tone, he guesses; he pays attention to things, okay, knows how certain tones of voice get Arin a little hot—and even more when the couple seconds of distraction cost him the game.

"God _dammit!_ " he snaps, and Danny's laughing, triumphant, tossing the controller aside and scrambling backwards up over the couch with desperate, hurried movements.

"Danny wins!" he calls out. "Put the words up, Barry."

"Danny's running full-speed for the bathroom," Arin says into the mic conspiratorially. "Two year-old Potty Dance style. Hail, the conquering hero."

"Next time on Game Grumps!" Danny yells, slamming the door behind him.

——

Almost an entire week goes by before anything happens again.

They're recording, because of course they are; they're trying to get a bunch of videos done for a series in one session—it's easier, that way, to keep the improv flowing naturally.

Danny likes lengthy recording sessions, if he's honest: they're fun, for the most part, and transitions from one video to the next are easy and quick. They can pull off a whole bunch in one session if they stay focused. He and Arin usually end up getting lunch together. It's pretty cool.

They went to a sandwich place for lunch today; Danny's got the other half of what he'd ordered in Arin's fridge for later, and the huge ( _huge_ , like how could anybody drink that much soda, he could probably fit his whole head in the cup) drink cup is sitting at his feet.

It's half empty at this point, and to be honest he's starting to feel it.

He figures he shouldn't bring it up during the video they're recording right now (one conversation about pissing is probably enough for a week, not that bodily function humor isn't pure gold), so he waits until Arin, still laughing, says, "Next time on Game Grumps," and ends the segment.

"Bathroom break," Danny announces.

He's halfway to his feet when Arin snags him by the back of the shirt and tugs him back down onto the couch. "C'mon, we only have one more video to get through before we can do the VS. Fifteen minutes tops."

"Dude, I will piss all over your couch." It's not that bad, honestly, but he'd prefer not to have a repeat of last week.

"One more video," Arin promises. "Don't be a baby. Do that for me?"

Danny laughs. What's the harm? "Yeah, sure. I'll hold it."

"Okay," Arin says, "good," and there's something weird in his voice, something Danny instinctively classifies as _praise_ and then immediately backtracks on, because _what?_

And then Arin's picking up the controller again and starting the next video, and Danny forgets about it.

——

So, here's the thing: they've been screwing off and on for the better part of four months now, and it's been long enough for Danny to be aware that Arin's into some weird shit.

Not anything that squicks him out, and not anything crazy extreme, but just, you know. Different stuff. Which is fine. Fun, even. Danny lets Arin break out the blindfolds and the lacy underwear and the toys and whatever, and it's pretty cool. Pretty hot. He's into it.

But what he's getting at here is when Arin starts plying him with glasses of soda and juice and water during their next all-day recording session, Danny can't quite automatically disregard it as good hospitality.

At first, Danny just mindlessly sucks down whatever Arin puts in front of him—they're doing a lot of talking, and his throat gets dry pretty easily, so hey, water, awesome.

"Hey, finish that up and I'll grab you a refill," Arin says at the end of one recording, and his voice is so casual that Danny almost forgets about what he'd been thinking about.

Still, there's a slight twinge at his lower stomach that makes him shake his head. "Nah, dude, I'm good. Full up to my eyeballs," he says, laughing.

"I still have a bunch of that orange juice I squeezed this morning," Arin says coaxingly, and, well. It's really great orange juice.

"Fuck it, okay." Danny drains the rest of the water in his glass and hands it off to Arin, who disappears back to the kitchen for what seems like the hundredth time today.

He marks off the recording and makes sure it's saved, and only barely manages to get to his feet to head to the bathroom when Arin pushes the door open again.

"Orange juice!" he announces, holding the glass up like an Olympic torch runner.

"Awesome. Give me two seconds to run to the bathroom."

Surprisingly, nothing changes in Arin's expression. He heads to the couch and sets the glass down. "Yeah, but can you hold it for like ten minutes? I need you to look up that walkthrough again while I do the intro. And we can take like an official break after this video."

Ten minutes. Danny can handle ten minutes—it's not anywhere near an emergency yet. So he nods, flopping back down onto the couch and pulling the laptop over so he can get the walkthrough up (the solution is, as it tends to be, incredibly obvious).

The thing about recording videos, though, is that all your concentration goes into the game and commentary. It's pretty easy to focus, and when you're on a roll, it's even easier to just keep going.

So it's not until they're a few minutes into a new video that Danny shifts, a little uncomfortable, and remembers. "Oh, fuck, hey, break after this one, okay?"

Arin's frowning at the screen, fucking with the thumbsticks with a sort of 'I don't even know what the fuck this is' carelessness. "Yeah, totally. Which door do I go through? I just _went_ through that door and it led me in a circle! What the fuck is this shit?"

Somehow, an hour goes by like that—finishing a video and starting the next one, and Danny forgets to say anything until it’s too late, and Arin doesn't seem to remember promising a break every ten minutes.

Which is fine, except for the fact that Danny's glass of orange juice is now empty, and he's shifting every few seconds, unable to sit still, and he has to _go_. He only manages to make it through the current video by crossing his legs tightly, and the second Arin chirps, "Next time on Game Grumps," Danny's tossing his controller aside.

"Be right back," he says.

"No, c'mon, one more? We're on a roll."

Danny laughs, balling his hands into fists and pressing them into the couch cushions. "Dude, you must _really_ want a new couch, because I promise you if I don't make it to the bathroom in the next five minutes, I'm gonna piss all over it. I seriously can't hold it anymore."

That's when Arin's breath hitches, and Danny starts to get it.

"One more video," Arin says. There's a mixture of tones in his voice, a plea and a command all in one, and it's enough to make him a little hot. He really, really, _really_ needs to go.

But—one more video. He can do that. Surely he can do that.

Except he _can't_ , Danny finds out, he can't make it, there's no fucking way he can make it. They hit a series of puzzles in the game, and there's no good way to end the video, so they're doing a twenty-minute segment and Danny's going to die. There's a low ache pulsing through what feels like his entire body, concentrated in his lower abdomen, and his bladder's so full he's somehow half-hard with it.

He's trying to do everything he can to stifle the urge, to get his mind off it—he crosses his legs tight as he can manage, and shifts, and rocks back and forth, and does everything but grab himself through his jeans and try to stave it off that way. At this point, Arin's looking at him more than the screen, and hell if that's not doing things to him, making him shift around that much more.

The weird mix of arousal and desperation is doing bizarre fucking things to his brain, probably; he's going to cut off Arin's dick and beat him with it if this does something fucked up to Danny's ability to get off.

"Arin," he gasps out, finally, trying to laugh a little at least for the sake of the recording, "seriously, it's an impending nuclear meltdown here, I gotta go, can we just pause or something?"

"Ten minutes," Arin says, and Danny forces himself not to scream in frustration.

And he doesn't scream, but a low, desperate noise escapes him and fuck it, fuck the video, fuck everything _so hard_. "I can't— Look, man, I indulged you, whatever weird kinky shit you're doing here, but this is it, I'm done, I _can't_ —"

He hears the controller hit the floor with a clatter, and then Arin's in his lap, straddling him, a sudden, warm weight exactly where he _doesn't_ need it right now, and he barely gets his mouth open to protest before Arin's kissing him.

"How bad?" Arin breathes when he breaks away. His hand slips under Danny's shirt and presses just slightly against his waist.

Danny jerks, not quite shouting, a pulsing ache going straight through his dick. "What— Arin, what the _fuck_ —"

"Scale of one to ten. How bad."

And he can't be talking about anything else, not with the way his hand starts massaging Danny's lower abdomen, making him shudder and shake his head hard. Impossibly, frustratingly, probably really fucking stupidly, he rocks up against Arin, trying to connect his hips with something solid, arousal and desperation warring. "Oh, god."

"Tell me." Arin's eyes are wide, dark, maybe a little hesitant, unsure, but he hasn't looked away from Danny once.

"Fuck— Fucking _twelve_ , dude, get off!"

Arin's working at him with both hands now, one pressing against his stomach, the other palming at his cock through his jeans. "Or what?" he asks, voice low, tone teasing. "You gonna piss yourself?"

Shame, hot and strong, burns through him. Danny feels his face flush, from high on his cheeks down to his neck, and somehow he's still pushing his hips up into Arin's hand. He knows he could shove Arin off him in a second, knows he could just say _I'm serious, no more, stop_ , and Arin would, instantly. And this is humiliating, and strange, and they're _still recording_ —

But it's also weirdly, undeniably hot, and Danny has a habit of thinking with his dick even on his best days.

"Are you gonna piss yourself?" Arin repeats, pressing hard, suddenly, against his abdomen, following up with fingers fondling at his clothed cock.

That tears a shaky whimper from him, the sound tripping out of him before he can help himself. " _Yes_ ," he gasps, reaching around to fist his hands in the back of Arin's shirt and hang on for dear life, and it _hurts_ , and it's _good_ , and he can't tell if he's about to come or let go completely. "I'm gonna if you don't stop, Arin, fuck, please— You can't—"

But Arin seems to know exactly how much he can take, because Danny hasn't fallen off the edge yet—it's unbearable, impossible, but he's holding it, even with everything Arin's doing to push him closer.

"God, you look amazing like this," he murmurs, and it's too much in all the best and worst ways, knowing that Arin's getting off on this.

"Arin." It comes out a little broken, all breath and desperation. "Arin, I'm gonna lose it. Seriously, fuck, I _need_ to."

"Then go."

Danny lets out a sound dangerously close to a sob as Arin puts pressure on him again. His hips jerk up once, twice, and for one horrifying second the dam breaks, a sudden hot wetness soaking through his underwear before he manages to get his hands between their bodies and grab at his dick, every muscle tensing up at once.

He's pushing at Arin mindlessly, and then he's up off the couch and running, nearly tripping over himself to get to the bathroom before he loses it again, and somehow he's _still_ hard, still on the edge of coming.

He doesn't bother to shut the bathroom door behind him, just gets to the toilet and jerks his fly down and empties himself, finally, finally. His cheeks are still hot with embarrassment, and he's making quiet little sounds he can't quite swallow down—it's like an orgasm in itself, somehow; the similar sudden relief feels like coming hard.

He shuts his eyes as he gets the last of it out. The shame that's still there, that's mostly just from—well, fucking everything, from genuinely thinking he was going to piss himself on the couch, from actually nearly doing it, from the fact that there's a slight but unavoidable wetness in his boxers.

Part of it, though, impossibly, mortifyingly, is from not being able to do what Arin seemed to want him to do: let go, right there, in front of him. And that _shouldn't_ be something he's ashamed of, because what the _fuck_ , but it's there, and—

"Dan."

He can't bring himself to answer, but Arin's stepping into the bathroom, hands grabbing at his hips, pushing him until he's backed up against the wall, and he shudders with embarrassment or arousal or, fuck, both? " _God_."

"Hey, shit, dude, I'm sorry, I just—"

"No, it's okay, it—" Danny breaks off, words going jumbled in his mind, and he takes a breath. "Arin, fuck, just get me off, okay? Please, I need— I _need_."

And to his credit Arin doesn't try to get him to talk, just fumbles with his jeans until he can start jacking him off, quick and a little rough until Danny's coming, crying out, over his hand.

——

"So," Danny says, later, when he's cleaned up and they're both back on the couch like nothing ever happened (they could probably pretend like it didn't happen, but Arin's big on communication and Danny wants to be able to look him in the eyes, so, hey, here they are). "That was..."

"Amazing?" Arin supplies, grinning with a familiar cockiness that puts Danny at ease, coaxes a laugh from him. "Incredible? Fucking hot?"

"Weird." He laughs again at the way Arin's expression falls comically. "I mean, yeah. It was hot. Also very weird."

"I heard hot," Arin says, triumphant, and then he sobers a little. "I should've talked to you about it. Or, I dunno. Something."

Danny snorts. "I sort of figured it out when you kept trying to drown me in glasses of water. You weren't exactly at your most subtle."

"I really liked seeing you like that," Arin confesses. There's a slight flush high on his cheeks. "I, uh. I didn't know I'd like it. But you looked really good." He swallows and shakes his head, looking away. "I mean, I totally get it if you're not cool with it. It's weird." He grins a little bit. It looks forced. "I won't talk about it anymore if you don't want me to."

Danny’s quiet for a moment, considering. "I want to talk about it." Arin glances at him, eyebrows rocketing up, and Danny adds hastily, "Maybe not— Like not right this second. But later. Soon."

"Whenever you want," Arin says, and the relieved smile on his face is enough to make Danny grab him by the front of his shirt and tug him into a slow, fond, easy kiss.

"Later. We never finished filming that episode."

"Are you kidding?" Arin says, delighted. "I thought we did great."

"We're deleting that recording."

"Not if I save it first."

"I will piss directly on your fucking hard drive. Trying getting off on that."

**Author's Note:**

> haha wow i'm trash; go to http://anarchetypal.tumblr.com/ if you do the tumblr thing for more (predominately rt/ah) writing/inspiration trash.


End file.
